Sasifraz had convinced me that I had to cut my arm every two weeks. He had certain standards and nothing could substitute for his blood toll. After surreptitiously cutting myself a week before, I knew time was running out.
Ultimately my distraction with Sasifraz and pre-occupation with arm cutting and suicide mobilized Kantor. Suddenly, Kantor wanted me to see her every day at sixth period for a few minutes. I was both flattered and relieved. Although, I wasn’t entirely sure what brought about the change in Kantor.
* * * * * * *
(1987)
(NO WAY AM I GETTING INTO THIS. Why not? Are you afraid? YES. YES. I ADMIT IT. YOU BETCHA, BIG GUY. I AM AFRAID. Come on, I thought you were bold and brazen. A little rough spot and you bail out. OKAY, MAYBE JUST A LITTLE MORE. Come on. You can do better than that.)
(NO WAY AM I GETTING INTO THIS. Why not? Are you afraid? YES. YES. I ADMIT IT. YOU BETCHA, BIG GUY. I AM AFRAID. Come on, I thought you were bold and brazen. A little rough spot and you bail out. OKAY, MAYBE JUST A LITTLE MORE. Come on. You can do better than that.)
* * * * * * *
(1972)
Kantor wanted me to see my psychologist, Dr. Williams, who I’d seen the summer before. My father, however, was totally opposed—expressing the belief I had no problems.
Kantor wanted me to see my psychologist, Dr. Williams, who I’d seen the summer before. My father, however, was totally opposed—expressing the belief I had no problems.
On Wednesday of the last week I spent with him, for some reason, he changed his mind. Still espousing the belief that it was unnecessary, he drove me to Dr. Williams’s office. I didn’t care what he said as long as he took me.
Williams could see the change in me over the last six months. I talked about Sasifraz and what he’d been saying about arm cutting. While I was talking to Williams, I noticed in the corner of the room a large knife. Sasifraz told me it was a seven inch blade for me to use when I needed it. He had stuck it there for me, and I longed to grab it. It epitomized my taking control in my life.
Williams didn’t know what I was looking at, but she suggested I go to a general hospital for three or four days. I wanted to talk to Kantor about it. Williams got Kantor on the phone. Kantor reassured me that it was a good idea and that she’d visit me. I said okay, but my Dad said no. The matter was dropped for the night. I went home with my Dad.
* * * * * * *
The next day at school, Kantor asked me if I still wanted to go to the hospital. I said yes, but I wasn’t sure why. I was so filled with pain, Sasifraz, and arm cutting that I couldn’t imagine anything that would make it worse. (What’s worse anyway? It was all relative.) Kantor said she’d see what she could do. (I’ll just bet she did.)